


The Prince of the Noldor

by SpaceWall



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Fourth Age, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Multi, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Canon, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22721731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceWall/pseuds/SpaceWall
Summary: An incident at the Court of the High King leads Finarfin to realize that the newly arrived Elrond Peredhel should probably be let in on a family secret. Some reunions are easier than others.--“It takes more than blood to make a parent. I know who raised me, who fought the draw of the Silmarils every single day to protect me and my brother. I know who went hungry so I could eat. I know their names. Maedhros. Maglor.”
Relationships: Celebrían/Elrond Peredhel, Celebrían/Elrond Peredhel/Ereinion Gil-galad, Celebrían/Ereinion Gil-Galad, Elrond Peredhel & Maedhros | Maitimo, Elrond Peredhel/Ereinion Gil-galad, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 112
Kudos: 341





	The Prince of the Noldor

**Author's Note:**

> CW/TW: discussions of parental neglect, canonical death of a child (Arwen), some characters experience triggers/flashbacks. References to the canonical tragic/bad things that happen to Celebrían, Gil-galad and Maedhros
> 
> Despite that, actually, a story where everything ends really well.

It was a necessary evil, to present himself to Finarfin’s court in Tirion. He had already put it off for almost a year, sequestering himself with Gil-galad and Celebrían and becoming reacquainted with the loves of his life, but there were limits to all things, and Erestor had threatened him with the court of Oropher instead, who were known to appear when least expected or desired at the homes of various lords. It was with this threat in mind that Elrond knelt before the throne of his grandmother’s people, and pledged his loyalty. It was the first time he had ever been expected to choose one of his bloodlines. Gil-galad had always allowed him to be himself, and then, after his death, Elrond had been the next heir to both elven crowns, and had refused both. He had been the Lord of Rivendell, nothing more or less than that. 

“Rise, grandson, and know yourself to be a Prince of the Noldor, from this day until the end of days,” Finarfin said. He had a musical voice, which resonated around the throne room. It was said that the room was the optimal shape to amplify the voice of one who sat in the throne. 

Elrond stood, and tactfully did not point out that Gil-galad had offered him the same honour centuries earlier, and he had refused. That despite the depth and breadth of his love for Gil. There were only two people from whom he would have been honoured to accept the position, and neither was present. 

“Elrond!” The whole room spun in search of the new voice. She pushed her way through the crowd, and threw herself bodily at him. Elrond did not know her face, but he could guess. She looked not dissimilar to Elros. He resisted the urge to go for a sword he knew he was not carrying, but could not resist the urge to step away. She tried to put her arms around him, and he took another step back. 

“Please, don’t,” he said. Already, he could feel his breath tightening in his throat. He didn’t want to panic in front of all these people. There was a reason he had not wanted to come to court, why he had spent his time since arriving in relative seclusion. 

“My son!” She exclaimed, and tried to embrace him again. He pushed her hands away, back of his hands against her wrists, with a little too much force. He’d been a soldier far too long to lose the reflexes.

“Don’t call me that!” 

The crowd stirred, restlessly. 

She stopped, rubbing at her wrists as though Elrond’s quick back hands had really hurt her. He had not wanted to hurt her, but he could not allow this. It would only bring more pain to both of them later. “Whatever those bastards told you, it isn’t true.”

Any of Elrond’s friends would have told her, there was only one thing the Lord of Imladris would not tolerate. You did not claim to know his story better than he did.

“What part? That you abandoned us to what you believed was certain death in favour of a Silmaril? They never said such a thing. I had to figure that out for myself.” 

“We were not permitted to return!”

Elrond clenched his fists, but did not move. He could feel his heart beating in his chest as if he were still half man. “You should not have left, if you ever loved us. You knew what happened to your brothers. You knew what happened to your parents. And yet you kept the silmaril, and left us.” 

Elwing made a noise of incoherent rage. “What should we have done? Given it to those monsters?”

“Yes!” The word reverberated around the room. Evidently, the remarkable acoustics did not only affect the king. Everybody flinched. Elrond saw Celebrían, out of the corner of his eye, sliding across behind the rest of the crowd, towards the throne. He hoped she could put an end to the whole affair. Finarfin did not seem inclined to. He sat on the dias, staring mutely out at the pair of them. 

“My parents died for that jewel,” Elwing shrieked. It made Elrond want to clap his hands over his ears. He had not heard that noise for many years, but it made him feel like a child again. As a parent, he’d always made a point not to yell. Celebrían had found it hard, especially when the twins were young and troublesome and she was pregnant with Arwen. But she’d known that it was a trigger for Elrond’s anxieties, and they’d extensively discussed the best way to parent for them.

“Then your parents died for selfish reasons too! What harm would it have done, giving it to them? How much pain and death would have been prevented? How many people died for your pride, Elwing Dioriel? As many as died for Fëanor’s, do you suppose?” 

If she had given it to them, then it would never have gone to Valinor. The war might never have ended. It was such a stupid argument to make, but the anger had gone to his head, ages of resentment and grief bleeding out in front of the entire Noldorin court.

“I am your mother-”

Elrond would not allow that. “It takes more than blood to make a parent. I know who raised me, who fought the draw of the Silmarils every single day to protect me and my brother. I know who went hungry so I could eat. I know their names. Maedhros. Maglor.”

She raised her hand as if to slap him. It was never any threat, but it seemed to finally, finally, motivate Finarfin to act. 

“Enough!” He roared. Everyone turned to look at him. Elrond wondered when the last time was that Finwë’s gentle son had yelled. “Both of you, that is enough. Elwing, go home. Princess you may be, but I’ll have no violence in this room, now or ever, with blades or not. If I see you try such a thing again, you will be banished from the realms of the Noldor. If we can banish our own princes, we can certainly banish Thingol’s. Elrond, your tongue has sharpened since I saw you last. Mind that it does not get you into trouble. Such words will not be permitted again, from you or anyone.” 

Elrond, perhaps, had too much of Maglor in him. “Do the Noldor now forbid the truth? I know who my parents are. I am the only one, of any of you, who can speak the truth of what happened at Sirion and after.” 

Finarfin’s face darkened. “My office, Peredhel. Now.”

Elrond was so grateful not to have been called Eärendillion that he did as he was asked. The crowd parted before him, and Celebrían rushed to his side. Gil-galad was not far behind, and together they stood at Elrond’s sides, two of the great scions of Finarfin’s house. Finarfin passed the day’s proceedings into Queen Eärwen and Prince Angrod’s competent hands, and led the way to his office. Once they were all inside, he turned to look at Celebrían and Gil-galad. 

“I was not under the impression that every invitation extended to Prince Elrond was also extended to both of you. Would you mind giving us some privacy?” 

Celebrían rubbed at the scars on her wrists, a nervous tendency she had acquired during her years in Valinor. “I am his wife, grandfather. Anything you two say here will reach my ears regardless of where I am.” 

Gil-galad took a seat, sinking into a casual regality that put them all to shame. “I rather find I would mind, actually.”

Finarfin shrugged helplessly, and took his own seat. “Elrond, what in Arda were you thinking? Some of the people in that room were killed at Alqualondë, and more at Sirion. Is it too much to ask that you keep your mouth shut?” 

Gil-galad laughed wryly. “If you want him to be part of the court? Yes, quite a lot too much to ask. You would do better to put a wig on a dog and call it ‘Prince Elrond’

Elrond gave him a friendly shove. He was enjoying seeing someone else suffer under the duties he had held for years entirely too much. “Your majesty, I will not stand to see that lady call herself my parent. I have made it perfectly clear that I do not want to see her.”

Finarfin leant back, watching him closely. “So you really believe it, then? You would call Fëanor’s sons your fathers?” 

Elrond noted that he called them no derogatory names. Celebrían folded her hands carefully in front of her and said, “grandfather, my husband had made it his life’s work to study the healing arts, of the body and mind. He has studied how relationships may help or harm our fëar, and in particular did make a study of relationships in which parents were negligent or abusive. This is no whim of his. He is informed, and has considered both sides, and knows well which set of parents did show him better treatment. As you should know better than most, it is not only shared blood that does a family make.” 

Finarfin recoiled at her words, and that was when Elrond finally understood the root of what was wrong with his father’s house. Finwë, he reminded himself, had shown no more attention to Finarfin that Elwing and Eärendil had shown to Elrond. He tapped gently on the edge of Celebrían’s mind, and reminded her of the fact. 

“Celebrían,” Gil admonished, aloud. “I do not believe the question was asked in judgement.” 

Finarfin, recovering, shook his head. “No, it was not. I had wondered if it was simply the most hurtful thing you could think of to the mother- woman you feel abandoned you.” 

It would have been that too, but it was also the truth. “Maedhros and Maglor were very good to me. And to Elros. I never felt loved before I met them. By an adult, I mean. I always had Elros, and he had me. But I barely even knew Eärendil, and Elwing was… the servants always told us that she was our mother, and loved us, but her affection was rare enough that I never knew who she really was. I always hoped we might turn out to be the sons of a serving woman instead. Like the opposite of a mortal fairy tale. They were friendly to us, at least. Elwing had us young. Stupidly young. She was unready to be a parent. I’ve spent a long time learning not to hate her. She does not deserve my hate, but I cannot have her in my life, either. As the woman who brought me into this world, she owes me that much.” 

Finarfin opened the top drawer of his desk, and pulled out a piece of paper, a quill, and some ink. He wrote out a couple lines in a careful, determined script, signed it, blotted the ink, and then returned to the drawer for some sealing wax and an envelope. Carefully, he folded the paper over once and placed it inside. 

“Do you mind?” He asked Celebrían. She snapped her fingers, and the wax melted right onto the paper. He sealed it shut with his ring. “Take this to Fingon. Tell him I sent you.” 

It was a dismissal, clear as day. Elrond plucked the letter from his hands, and walked away. Celebrían and Gil-galad followed him out. Gil showed them a back way out of the palace, and took them down a winding path to the sea. He was a connoisseur, he said, of ways to escape the public life of a former king. With the sounds of the waves obscuring their words from prying ears, Celebrían and Elrond spoke of their thoughts on the broken nature of Finwë’s house, into which she had been born, Gil-galad had been adopted, and Elrond had been both. It was shattered, Elrond told them, by Finwë, first and foremost in his failures as a father. Celebrían agreed. She had seen the ways that her grandfather’s childhood had touched her mother in turn. When that topic had been exhausted, Gil told them what had become of Fingon Nolofinwion. 

“He and Prince Turgon are the only two of their family to have made it back. Princess Aredhel, and the Princes Fingolfin and Argon were not so lucky. Nobody knows why. It isn’t like with the Arafinwëans, where there’s an obvious tragedy keeping one of them back, or the Fëanorions, with their crimes. He’s often seen about Tirion, but never in court that I have seen. I have met him, a couple of times. Since rumour had him as my biological father, it seemed appropriate to become acquainted. He isn’t, obviously, but he was very courteous about the whole thing.” 

Elrond had heard a great deal about Fingon, as a boy. “How does he seem, in his second life?” 

Gil-galad shrugged. “He was good enough to me, but distant. Funny fellow. Lives not far from here, actually.” 

Elrond stopped. “Gil, are you walking me to see him?”

Gil-galad winked. “Maybe.”

Celebrían silenced them both with a simple gesture. “Should we read the letter, before? See what he said?” 

Gil shook his head. “I can read upside down. ‘You will have heard by now of the incident that occurred during Elrond’s introduction to the court. He believes what he said, and you should take it into serious consideration.’ And then there were signatures and titles.”

Celebrían shook her head. “I wonder what he meant by that.”

Elrond wondered, too. “Well, perhaps Fingon will tell us. How much further is it? I believe we are well past city limits now.”

Gil nodded. “An hour on foot, maybe? If Celebrían is alright, the both of us can walk you there.”

They both turned to look at her. Celebrían shook her head, seeming bemused. “Boys. I promise to tell you, if I feel ill or exhausted. But I am as curious over Finarfin’s words as you two are. How do you suppose he could be certain Fingon would have heard about what transpired today, if he never comes to the court?”

Gil seemed to consider, for a moment. “Maybe we should rest here a while, so we can can be certain he has received word. It would do us no good to precede the rumour.”

Elrond and Celebrían both agreed to the idea, and she slipped off her shoes and lifted her skirt to run into the surf. Gil, laughing, shucked his shoes away and joined her. Elrond, ever the cautious one of their group, was slower, but the easy bliss of it all calmed him, after the stress Elwing had inflicted earlier. When he made it in, Celebrían kissed him, lips tasting of salt and possibility. Gil kissed him too, after, just a hint of heat on his lips. 

“You’ve been eating peppers,” Elrond accused. Gil-galad laughed. 

“Guilty. I had not thought to be sharing my lips with two such fine people this afternoon.” 

His participation in their relationship was not a matter of public knowledge, and so at public events like Elrond’s introduction to the court, he stayed back. Elrond wished he did not have to. He loved Gil-galad just as he loved Celebrían, and they each other. But the elves of Valinor did not tolerate such ‘uncivilized’ practices. That had been the great virtue of Middle Earth. There, you could be anyone. Here, the rules and constructions of society remained as rigid as they were when his parents were young. 

He was distracted from his gloomy thoughts by Gil-galad splashing him in the face with seawater. 

“Live in today, Elrond,” Celebrían said, pushing his wet hair behind one ear. 

It was so hard to do, when he knew their children were living, and at least one would die, so far away. Every day, he wondered if he had made a mistake, if he should have stayed. Celeborn had stayed, even though Galadriel had returned home. Maybe such a choice was the right one. But his time there had been over. He had known that.

“What will Fingon think?” He asked them. 

“He will think you are half mad,” Gil joked, “but he might be right.”

They stayed there until the cold reached their bones, and then they climbed up off the beach to cuddle in the grass. “No sand,” Celebrían had commanded. “It gets in all the worst places.”

She was, as always, right about everything. Gil braided Elrond’s hair to hide the dampness while Celebrían rested her head in his lap. And then, when they judged enough time had passed, they put their shoes back on and went to see Fingon Nolofinwion. 

It was a nice house, not on the beach, but in a secluded patch of forest, off the beaten track and surrounded by oak trees. The light through the leaves dappled the ground, casting shadows in much of the garden. Elrond liked it on sight, though he could not put a finger on why. Perhaps the sound of a stream rushing past towards the sea reminded him of Imladris. Gil and Celebrían lingered back while Elrond went to knock on the door. He rapped twice, hard. There was the sound of something being dropped. He must have startled Fingon. But then, well, visitors were probably uncommon. Especially uninvited ones. It took the prince a minute to answer the door. He was wearing a loose grey tunic and brown trousers, and surveyed the lot of them with suspicion. 

Elrond had only ever seen Fingon in paintings, and they really didn’t do him justice. Mostly, the ones Elrond had seen had given him something close to the fair skin of Doriathrim nobility, and the dark eyes of Fëanor’s sons, tinged with the light of the trees around their edges. In fact, he had neither. His eyes were fair, a surprisingly pale green that must have come from Indis, while his skin was darker than Turgon’s or Idril’s. It must have been his mother’s colouring. He was very handsome, even dressed as a peasant rather than a prince, with long, thick hair that was tightly bound in many small braids. Each one ended in a golden bead, which had usually been interpreted as gold streaks by painters who had never met him.

“What is it?” He demanded of Gil-galad. Elrond cleared his throat, and presented the letter to him. At seeing Finarfin’s seal, Fingon’s whole demeanour changed. He tore it open, and read the short message. When he looked at Elrond, his expression was unreadable. 

“Do you trust these two?” He asked, voice hard. 

Elrond looked over his shoulder at his two loves. What to say? “More than anything.”

“With your life?”

“We’ve already given him ours,” Celebrían called, with false bravado. Her tugging on her sleeves to cover the scarring at her wrists betrayed her true feelings. 

Fingon seemed to make a decision. He leant over his shoulder and called, “love, it’s for you!”

There was a long moment where nothing happened. And then the door swung fully open to reveal a stranger at Fingon’s side. Elrond did not know him. He knew someone about that tall, with such fair skin, and hair that, if it had ever been clean, might have been that shade. But this elf had two hands, and his eyes were clear of the sickness Elrond had always known in his father. 

Maedhros-but-not stared out at the three of them. His eyebrows narrowed in recognition at Elrond, but he did not approach. There was no scar through one of the eyebrows any more. 

“What is the matter?” He asked, to the group at large. Elrond knew that voice- he knew- 

Celebrían only just caught him before he broke down. Gil-galad was a half-step behind her, and he grasped Elrond’s hand in his reassuringly. Fingon took a half step back, as if unsure what to do. Maedhros stayed exactly where he was. 

“Elrond?” He asked, as if disbelieving his own eyes. “How did you know-”

“Finarfin sent them,” Fingon told him. “Today, Prince Elrond may have insinuated, in front of the Noldorin court, plus visitors, that he did not consider Princess Elwing his mother, and in fact preferred to think of himself as having two fathers, proceeding to name you and Maglor.”

“Insinuated is putting it mildly,” Gil-galad corrected. “It is an honor, my lord. I am Artanáro Ereinion Gil-galad, and this is Princess Celebrían Nerissë.” 

Nobody ever used Celebrían’s much-hated mother name. Gil must have been in a ceremonial mood, to have used it, and his father name as well. Or maybe it was merely the shock of being confronted with his lover’s long-dead father. Círdan’s son had always fallen back on formality and tradition as what he called ‘the last refuge of the bewildered’.

“Celebrían, please,” she said, and released Elrond into Gil-galad’s waiting arms to offer Maedhros her hand. “Any father of Elrond’s is a father of mine. Legally, at least- I am his wife.”

He imagined that Maedhros bowed to kiss her hand- he was terribly proper too- and likely saw the scars she had been trying to hide. Certainly, something seemed to change his demeanour. 

“Tea, Fingon?” He asked. “Celebrían, Ereinion, make yourselves at home. I would like to speak to Elrond alone, if he would let me.”

Celebrían pressed a questioning touch to his mind, and he agreed. It was good to have his loves there to support him, but this was something he had to do alone. Gil-galad released him to sink to his knees there on the step, and reluctantly followed Fingon and Celebrían inside. Maedhros sat beside him, long arms wrapped around his knees. 

“I like them,” he said, after some time. “She’s got fire in her heart, and he iron. You need that.”

Elrond did not ask how he had known that it was both. Maedhros was his father. He knew. 

“I’m lucky.”

Maedhros wrapped a tentative arm around his shoulder, and when Elrond leant into the touch, pulled him close. “So are they. And so am I, to have a son.”

Now was as good a time as any to ask the obvious question. “Atar- how did you get here?”

He felt Maedhros shrug. “Oh, in the usual way. I was dead, and then I was ready to stop being dead, so I walked out of the halls and walked all the way here. Some force must have been guiding me, because I hadn’t ever been here, but my feet never faltered. I knew where I needed to be - where Fingon was. That was a few years ago, now. We kept it quiet, just among those who we knew best. And Uncle Arfin, of course. As king, he needed to know.”

Elrond had no words for how relieved he was that Maedhros was there, and yet, “how did you come to be able to return?”

Maedhros shrugged again. “I don’t know the rules any better than anyone else. But I knew the door was ahead, and Fingon was here, and it was time. I think, maybe, it was because all the healing I had to do was out here, with him. But then, why not any of the others? I don’t know. It is not given to we penitents to ask the cause of our forgiveness.”

“I am glad you are here,” Elrond managed. “I missed you.”

He tried not to think about Maglor, who he missed still. 

“I am glad I am here too,” he said, and then, a second later, “yonya, is your hair wet?”

Elrond told him the brief story of how that had come to be, and then, because Maedhros was clearly listening attentively, and he was feeling bold, launched into the story of the court as well.

“I just- people here seem to idolize her so much, and I can’t bear it. There are so many things I did not even say then, that are true. Maglor was the first person, other than Elros, to ever hold me after a nightmare. Nobody knows that, and I do not think they would care if they did. But more, they should not need to. I should not need to reveal every trauma the first age left me with to justify why I found it unacceptable to be grabbed by someone I barely know in a public space without my asking.” 

Maedhros sighed. “I wish Tirion had changed in the time I was dead. It has not, and it is a shame that so many good people, Uncle Arfin included, go to waste on this system that rewards and always has rewarded not making a fuss.”

Elrond nodded. “I always hated this sort of stuff. It was why I refused to be High King after Gil died. Elros was better at it.”

Maedhros kissed him on the forehead. “Oh, you could be as good at it if you wanted to. But there is a certain integrity in not being good at it. I always hated it. My father did, too. He decided to raise us away from court for that very reason.”

That reminded Elrond. He explained to Maedhros how hurt Finarfin had seemed by Celebrían’s words. How he thought Finwë had broken his sons.

Maedhros sighed, deeply. “I wish it was not true, but you are probably right. I wish I had seen it at the time. If I had, maybe I would have thought more kindly of the five of them. My father did love all seven of us, and treated us each with respect and dignity. But I can imagine how it would have felt to not know. When our mother abandoned him, and only asked Amrod to stay, I know the rest of us felt betrayed, even if we knew it was only because she’d had visions of his death. It was only after we all died that she realized her vision was incomplete.”

“Did your other brothers-”

“No. Just me. And Celebrimbor of course, but that is rather another matter. I think- nobody knows why, but there are theories. People seem fairly divided on whether it is a reward, or a punishment, or a neutral thing with aspects of both. I think both, myself. I have done nothing worth rewarding, but there is no scenario where being here, with Fingon, and my mother, and you, apparently, could be a punishment. I believe that it is all about where you need to be, and when you are ready to be there. That is the only way I can make sense of this.” 

Elrond knew how it was to feel victim to the whims of the Valar. Why had his children had the choice when Elros’s hadn’t? What was fair about that? Why did everyone have to leave? 

Maedhros took his hands in his. “Yonya, what’s happened?” 

Elrond told him everything. About his grief over losing Maedhros himself, and Maglor, and Elros. About losing Gil-galad and Celebrían, through no fault of their own. About the daughter and son he would never see again, and the sons whose fates were a mystery to even themselves. About the grandchildren neither of them would ever meet. Maedhros held him, and listened. He did not say ‘I’m sorry’, or offer any pity. 

When Elrond was done, he said only, “there is more strength in you than you know.” 

Elrond knew what he meant, and was grateful. 

“Come on, yonya. Let’s go in and have some tea. I want to meet these illustrious partners of yours. Galadriel’s daughter. Good grief. And whoever Gil-galad is. Did you ever figure that out?” 

Elrond was glad for the change of topic. “No, nobody knows, or if they do, they are keeping mum. Honestly, it was probably just a miscommunication that made Círdan think him a Finwian in the first place. In the end, Orodreth adopted him to settle the matter. I had actually wondered if you knew something more than you were letting on. I mean, Artanáro…” 

Maedhros sighed. “It does sound terribly Fëanarian, doesn’t it? Or Arafinwian. Ah, well. Whoever’s secret it is, I cannot find it in my heart to blame them. And if he never was of our house, what harm in saying otherwise? He is a credit to any who would claim him.” 

Elrond found it in his heart to blame them only in as far as the abandonment had hurt Gil-Galad. Which, admittedly, was not as far as all that. Gil loved Círdan, his foster father, very deeply, and was loved in turn. If it was not for Orodreth’s generous political adoption, Gil-galad would have taken to calling himself Círdanion years ago.

As soon as they went in, all three of their partners stood. Elrond wondered how long they had been sitting in silent tension. 

“Worrywort,” Maedhros accused Fingon fondly, and took the teapot from him one-handed. He filled the two empty cups, and handed one to Elrond. They were fine Telerin earthenwares, with a pale glaze and abstract paintings of flowers.

Elrond took a seat on the couch between his two loves. Celebrían linked his free hand with her own. 

“So,” Gil-galad broke the silence, “how long have you two been married?” 

Fingon took the question with a grin. “Married? Oh, we aren’t. There are people we want to be here for that who aren’t here, and as we see it, we have nothing but time. We’ve been together since the early first age, if that answers your real question.” 

Maedhros exchanged a wicked look with his partner. “But I have a not dissimilar question for the three of you. Tell me, Celebrían, Gil-galad. How did two people like you end up saddled with a silly Fëanarian-ish half-mortal who is too good for all of us?” 

He was teasing. That was new, but Elrond found he didn’t mind. 

Celebrían laughed, quite genuinely. It was good to hear her able to be so vulnerable with someone she had just met. According to Gil, she had not been for a long time. 

“Gil-galad had the ill sense to take him on as a herald. They were inseparable from the beginning, but not together until I came along as my parents emissary to the court. We none of us wanted to marry without the other, but this one-” She jerked a thumb at Gil-galad. “Just had to go and write a will specifically telling us to marry and have children, and making it so he wouldn’t let the High Kingship die with him unless we did so. And one of us or my mother as High King? That was a truly horrifying thought, but the worst part was that the next best claim was that in Elros’s line, and we certainly could not have that. Scheming blackmailing bastard.” 

It was a far more comic version of the tale than the truth, which was that they’d discussed it often when Gil was alive, and although he had made it a condition of his will, they had both already known that the reason he was doing it was to remind them that they had his explicit consent. Although he had told them many times, grief over his death would have stopped them without the written and legally binding reminder of what all three of them wanted. Elrond’s will had a similar clause tied to his position as heir of Thingol. They hadn’t thought it would matter which of them were married. At the time, Elrond had believed that any children of his would be purely elvish, just as all Elros’s children had been purely mortal. The error had robbed Gil-galad of the opportunity to be a father, at least to Arwen and possibly ever. An unforgivable mistake.

Gil reached across his lap to place his hand atop theirs.

“Celebrían is being unfair to herself. She would have been an excellent king, had she wanted it. She is very brave.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Celebrían hated being called brave, not that it came up that often. The stricken look on her face spoke for her. Maedhros stood. 

“My lady, there is a private matter on which I have long sought your mother’s advice. Would you consult with me?” 

Celebrían freed her hands from Elrond and Gil-galad’s grip, and followed him out. 

“Shit,” Gil muttered, with feeling. “I knew not to say that. Why did I say that?” 

Fingon sighed. “I’ve said stupider things to him. My advice? Apologize, sincerely. Then don’t do it again. In the meantime, let Maedhros handle it. If my read of the situation is right, they ought to speak anyways.”

That was as good a chance as any to ask. “He seems well. Or better than I ever knew him, at least. Is that normal?”

Fingon gave a sad smile. “Today is a good day, certainly. But bad days are rarer now than they were at the beginning. Finrod recommended he see a friend who works as a mind healer. I think that has helped a great deal. We never had such things in Beleriand, that I remember, but I’m glad someone had the sense in the intervening years to find a better way. Whoever did so has my most sincere thanks.”

Elrond blushed, in spite of himself. 

“You’re looking at him,” Gil said, with great pride. “Elrond pioneered healing of the mind among elves. Beloved as he was by Noldor and Sindar alike, he was able to serve as a patron and encourage many others to follow suit.”

Fingon looked closely at him. “Did you really? Maedhros told me you were a healer, but he did not mention that.” 

Speaking clearly to his own hands, Elrond said, “he wouldn’t know. I didn’t become a mind healer until after the war. Maglor was gone, Elros was dying, and Maedhros was dead. I knew that if I couldn’t do something, I would die myself. Everything I had was gone – it was before Gil and I were close, so I had lost all the people who loved me. I spent months waking up every night dreaming about Maedhros dying, thinking over everything I could have done differently. Círdan eventually sat me down and told me that if I wanted to live in the past, I should have sailed to Valinor. So I stopped trying to save people I couldn’t, and dedicated my life to trying to save the people I could.” 

Gil leant in and pressed a kiss to his temple. Fingon gave him a watery-eyed look. “Elrond Peredhel, from the deepest core of my heart, thank you. For doing something for him that I never could.” 

“I did it for him. But I also did it for me.” 

“I’m glad,” Maedhros said quietly, from the doorway. “I wouldn’t want you to have dedicated your life to something for me.” 

They all looked at him, save for Gil-galad, who fixed his eyes on where Celebrían stood behind him and said, “I’m sorry.”

She nodded her acknowledgement. Elrond looked to his father and said, “the way the people of Valinor never learned to change or heal- it’s monstrous. It really is. I think it’s broken every soul on these shores. I just want to grab all of them by their shoulders and tell them to think critically about their own feelings and problems. But, because they didn’t do this to themselves, I know I can’t. Valinor broke them in all the same places Beleriand broke us, if by different means.”

Fingon broke the tense moment with a laugh. “Sorry, but, I mean, here I was wondering if you were like Maedhros or Maglor, and really you’ve got Fëanor’s anger.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re wrong,” Maedhros interjected. “You have far more sense and kindness than Atar ever did. You are right to rail against suffering wherever and however you find it, and I’m proud of you for that.”

It meant so much, still, to hear those words from him. More than it ever could have meant to hear them from someone like Elwing, who had never really known him at all. Maedhros had known his anxieties and fears. Maedhros had known him as young and foolish as anything. 

Celebrían returned to Elrond’s side, and joined her hand with Gil-galad’s on his lap. 

Gil said, “well, this is lovely, and I’m honoured to finally have the chance to meet Elrond’s family, truly, but I also wonder: what happens now? I can swear to you both that we will never reveal your presence here, yet my words will mean nothing if people begin to be suspicious of our attending on you, and of you receiving us as guests.”

Maedhros and Fingon shared a look. Reborn, their eyes no longer held the starlight they would have once, that Elrond remembered in Maedhros’s. Now, the slate grey that was Maedhros’s natural colour was clear, though Fingon’s pale green remained remarkable.

It was Maedhros who spoke, in the end. There was a rare excitement in his tone. “I would not cast away a relationship with my son for my secrecy. There is so much now that we must do. You must tell me of your children. You will have to meet my mother. She will be delighted at the thought of more grandchildren. I should formally thank Uncle for sending you our way.”

As good a future as Elrond could have imagined for himself in Valinor. A better one, with Celebrían and Gil-galad at his sides, with Maedhros back in his life. This was a chance to be part of the family he’d always wanted. Yet there was much else, also. He needed to tell Elwing to leave him alone, once and for all. He needed to find the best healers possible for Frodo and Bilbo. He needed to train more healers in the arts of the mind. Maybe he should take apprentices, start a school. There was so much to be done. 

Celebrían pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Later,” she said, “for now, you can take the chance to actually enjoy the fruits of all your labour.”

Yes, he could.

**Author's Note:**

> I’d like to issue an official apology to Elwing Dioriel who’s really not a bad person just /complicated/ but had to be bad for the sake of the plot.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Despite What Might Have Been Expected](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22964533) by [Arannawen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arannawen/pseuds/Arannawen)
  * [Paper Faces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27635818) by [Ravenclaw_Peredhel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenclaw_Peredhel/pseuds/Ravenclaw_Peredhel)




End file.
